The Braes o Yarrow
No: 214; variant: 214C
- THERE were three lords birling at the wine
On the dowie downs o Yarrow;
They made a compact them between
They would go fight tomorrow.
- 'Thou took our sister to be thy bride,
And thou neer thocht her thy marrow;
Thou stealed her frae her daddie's back,
When she was the rose o Yarrow.'
- 'Yes, I took thy sister to be my bride,
And I made her my marrow;
I stealed her frae her daddie's back,
And she's still the rose o Yarrow.'
- He is hame to his lady gane,
As he had done before! O;
Says, Madam. I must go and fight
On the dowie downs o Yarrow.
- 'Stay at hame, my lord,' she said,
'For that will cause much sorrow;
For my brethren three they will slay thee,
On the dowie downs o Yarrow.'
- 'Hold your tongue, my lady fair,
For what needs a' this sorrow?
For I'll be hame gin the clock strikes nine,
From the dowie downs o Yarrow.'
- She wush his face, she kamed his hair,
As she had dune before, O;
She dressed him up in his armour clear,
Sent him furth to fight on Yarrow.
- 'Come you here to hawk or hound,
Or drink the wine that's so clear, O?
Or come you here to eat in your words,
That you're not the rose o Yarrow?'
- 'I came not here to hawk or hound,
Nor to drink the wine that's so clear, O;
Nor I came not here to eat in my words,
For I'm still the rose o Yarrow.'
- Then they a' begoud to fight,
I wad they focht richt sore, O,
Till a cowardly man came behind his back,
And pierced his body thorough.
- 'Gae hame, gae hame, it's my man John,
As ye have done before, O,
And tell it to my gay lady
That I soundly sleep on Yarrow.'
- His man John he has gane hame,
As he had dune before, O,
And told it to his gay lady,
That he soundly slept on Yarrow.
- 'I dreamd a dream now since the streen,
God keep us a' frae sorrow!
That my lord and I was pu'ing the heather green
From the dowie downs o Yarrow.'
- Sometimes she rade, sometimes she gaed,
As she had dune before, O,
And aye between she fell in a soune,
Lang or she cam to Yarrow.
- Her hair it was five quarters lang,
'Twas like the gold for yellow;
She twisted it round his milk-white hand,
And she's drawn him hame from Yarrow.
- Out and spak her father dear,
Says, What needs a' this sorrow?
For I'll get you a far better lord
Than ever died on Yarrow.
- 'O hold your tongue, father,' she said,
'For ye've bred a' my sorrow;
For that rose'll neer spring sae sweet in May
As that rose I lost on Yarrow.'